The Edwards

Eleventh Edward.

The Edwards

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I always wondered if the 'play' button means anything. Staring at an old walkman owned by the museum, I thought.

It's fascinating, and I'm inlove with things I cannot understand, it keeps me going.

How did they come up with a triangle pointed right? How did they come up with two bold lines for the symbol 'pause? Why did they invent rewinds and unwinds?

I guess someday we'll know, and that someday is miles away from seeing us.

Standing infront of an amateur painting made by a confusing individual, I tried to listen to the voice at the Walkman explaining things about the painting.

It is called "Rise Under" by an anonymous painter. I watched his paintings with pure fascination, temporarily feeling the strokes of his paintbrush.

I feel the anger, the pain and the hope in his strokes, they fill the gaps of my heart perfectly, as if trying to send out a message.

I wonder what the artist was thinking about when he done this. I wonder if he was in his art studio, if he was watching a scenery that inspired him, or if he was in his room thinking.

No one can see paintings in the same perspective at all, in the same thought, the same word, and in the same way.

I stood by the painting and watched it's colors grow dim and then I hit the stop button when I finished listening, and moved on to the next.

It's funny how I'm here at an art museum, when I should be in the hospital looking forward in seeing you.

But I'm afraid, Edward.

That maybe you lied when you told me your feelings were real, when you told me we were awake. I don't want to believe in the things the naked eye can see.

I don't want to see what's on the surface because it will distract me from knowing whats under everything, what's beyond.

I think, this feeling is called fear, and I despise this feeling bit by bit that I want to crush it with my hands and rebuild it to die again.

I sighed and looked at the last painting, it was a painting of many red flowers with one blue dot in the center, and the flowers seem to stare at it. I think it represents society.

That no one will care if you're different or not, if you're low class and anti-social. Because all society cares about are the superiors, and the rich.

I wonder why that is?

Because I thought society was a place for everyone, no judments and no classes. I thought society was world wide good.

I was wrong then, because even the blind can see how society is hell right now, as hell as it was before.

"This painting is well loved by politics and artistic people. It show us of being unique and different, amongst the same." The walkman played.

I nodded and decided to see the anger of such artist with simplicity strokes. It made me want to cry and see the reality between society and fantasy.

I hit the stop button because the whole world was starting to become noisy. The chattering of people, moving steps, the sound of bells.

I wanted to cry.

No, I wanted to weep for the rest of my life.

Why, Edward? Because blue was there in the painting, and I couldn't stop thinking about you being out of the reds.

Blaming myself now for being in a museum won't do me good, and I knew the best thing I could do for now was run.

Run to you, and feel your heat.

So I did, I ran to the hospital and burst into your room with sweat pouring down my whole body. I don't know how you're doing this to me, Edward.

God, Edward- you're making me crazy than I ever was before for you.

Your parents greeted me with wide eyes, so did your grandma and Alice. I smiled at them and uttered my apologies and turned to you.

"Uh, um.. Hey.." I greeted, eyes casting downwards.

"Hey.." You replied with your cheeks tinged red.

"Um- wait.. Why are you blushing?"

"I-I'm not!" You looked away.

I frowned, and touched your forehead and turned to your family.

"A fever perhaps?" I asked your Mom, and she shook her head slightly and pulled the rest of your family out the room.

I wonder if they ever get tired of being excused just for both of us to talk alone in privacy. I don't want to be of nuisance.

Before I could say a word and run to chase them, you grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to you, making me sit down beside you.

"Wh-what are you d-doing?!"

You hugged me from behind and rest your nose at the nape of my neck. And I can feel you inhaling my scent, and I wish you didn't because it made me feel the butterflies in my intestines.

I wish I could pause this moment and be forever.

But my life is not a walkman with a tape, it's simply a tape that goes on and on and on. Sadly, I cannot stop the tape, neither rewind it.

"..Belle Jasse." You whispered, tickling my skin.

"...Hmm?"

"God, I missed you."

"W-what?"

"You heard me. You've been gone for years."

"It's only been two days, Edward."

"Two days, three days- an hour without you feels like a year already, Belle Jasse."

And boy, were you a drummer who chooses how the beat of my heart goes. You ticked it and there, my heart beat drummed in it's cage.

"Stop saying things like that, Edward."

"Things like what?"

"...If you- if you continue saying those things, I might just.. fall inlove with you.."

"I don't mind that."

Edward, I swear if you could feel my heart beat, if you could see my smile. Why are you so perfect? Like a new rewinded tape that never ends.

Our story is a million tapes, stretched in chapters, and it all comes long with no walkman or buttons, it just keeps going.

You placed your hands gently on top of mine, and then the whole world just burst into fireworks, I guess my world did.

I wonder if my dreams led me to you.

"So, when will you be discharged?" I asked.

"Tomorrow, lunch time. I want you to be there."

"Okay.."

"After that, let's start quickly with the painting lessons I promised you, alright?"

"... You didn't forget."

"How could I forget the best memories of my life?"

"Yeah.."

"Yeah..."

I realized a random thought, That an insomniac loved the moon so bad that he didn't dare sleep, even if he wanted to.

Edward, You are the moon, and I as the insomniac who stares sleepily at you in the navy blue sky, and I will never close my eyes.

Eleventh, The one who hold my hand, the one who hugged me, the one who made me feel inoxicated, the one who set me walking in a thin line between good and bad.

I guess you could say, This guy is one hell of a person.